Page 171 of Ruins
With my responsibilities as Scythe consuming every ounce of my time and energy, I can’t afford to take a fucking break. I push the anger down—lock it in a corner of my mind where it will simmer until I have the time to deal with it.
The intercom beeps. Evie’s voice fills the room.
“Marcus is ready for you.”
I exhale sharply, standing, rolling the tension from my shoulders before making my way to the cyber security floor.
As the elevator doors slide open, I expect good news. Maybe another breadcrumb leading to whatever deal Miroslav made with the Armenians.
What I don’t expect is to seehim.
Wesley fucking Beaumont.
I loathe the rich bastard. The entitled smirk, the effortless wealth, the arrogance that oozes from him—he’s the kind of man who thinks power is bought, not taken. A bullet between the eyes would be an immediate solution to my irritation.
Problem is, it would also be impulsive and stupid. Not to mention, hiding the death of a billionaire would be a logistical nightmare.
Still, my fingers twitch at my side.
“What the fuck, Marcus?” I demand, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.
To my surprise, Marcus looks genuinely taken aback. “You said to use all resources and anyone available.”
“Anyone who works forus,” I grind out, my glare shifting to Wesley.
The smug bastard raises his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace.”
“The Beaumont’s weren’t enemies of Mr. Popov,” Marcus continues, his eyes flickering between Wesley and me. “But… are they enemies ofyourorganization?”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter under my breath before locking eyes with Wesley. The fucker smirks like this is a business deal and not an insult to my very existence.
“It’s common knowledge that you’re mafia, Santo,” Wesley says, extending a hand.
I don’t take it. Instead, I glare at him in silent warning.
He drops his hand with a shrug. “I couldn’t care less about that. It’s War’s issue, not mine.” His smirk widens. “If anything, I want an alliance. A truce. To work together.”
“You shouldn’t be touching my shit, let alonebein my business.”
“But I found something.” He turns back to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. “See?”
He pulls up images. Myself. Luca. Nico. Angelo. Maksim. Vaska.
I move before I can think, shoving him aside to take control of the computer. I scroll through document after document, each one confirming a truth I don’t want to fucking believe.
Miroslav has been embezzling from his own company. From NovaRael.
UsingmyNovaRael as his own personal piggy bank.
The transactions are right there, money funneled into offshore accounts under his name. Years of betrayal buried beneath careful accounting.
But that’s not the worst of it.
My fingers tighten on the mouse as I click through more files. And then I see it.
A date. A time. A location.
“A drop-off.” The words leave me in a whisper.
